All The King's Horses
by Aeowyn Exitus
Summary: Death's lingering shadow erases all color from Clarke's world, stealing those she loves, but she still dreams in color. Clexa
_A/N:_

 _Dedicated to my friend SilentStormSociety on her birthday! She is a wonderful friend and writer -) *Hugs*_

 _Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the madness of my mind._

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She dreamed in green. Different shades of emerald mixed together with splotches of brown sprouting from earth-colored strokes. She longed to breathe in the scent of pine that existed in the stories that had long since drifted into legend, touch the rough bark of trees with their leaves reaching towards the sky, hear the echoes of waves crashing against the shore, and feel the heat of the sun caressing her face.

She dreamed of freedom, but life existed solely within the filthy canvas of her floor, and the sticks of charcoal that lay within arm's reach. She dreamed of color, but her world consisted of black and white. Time raced by, and she lost track of the minutes, hours, days and months. She frowned. The walls were starting to close in, smothering her within a claustrophobic nightmare.

So ironic, this imprisonment. An even greater prison overshadowed the confines of this cell. Ninety-seven years ago, some idiot had launched nuclear missiles, annihilating life on Earth and leaving the planet drowned in radiation. Twelve space stations, which later combined into the one huge station called The Ark, were fully operational at the time of the bombs. The population aboard these stations were all that remained of humanity.

Now, there was the Ark, and the remaining members of the human race lived without knowing what it was like to live outside the confines of the station. Scientific data pointed to the fact that the Earth needed another hundred years before it was habitable, making the Ark nothing more than a gilded cage. It was salvation and captivity. After all, who could flee from the vast void of space?

Footsteps thudded in the hall and halted just outside the door. She looked away from her drawing as the sound of grinding metal rang through the room before two men in black Kevlar suits barged inside. The man in the lead was dark skinned with close-cropped hair, his mouth set in a hard line. The other hung in the background, but his muscles tensed as if he expected trouble, a shadow to the first man that entered, backup in case things went to shit.

Two guards would not have come to deliver standard rations. They must be here to draw blood. She knew the routine and extended out her hand, palm up. For the past two months as part of some initiative, blood samples were routinely taken from prisoners. There were no explanations as to why, and her questions were met with silence.

"Prisoner 319 face the wall." The lead guard said, his tone gruff.

She was reduced to a number having lost the right to a name. Resentment flooded her, and she raised her chin in defiance. She was Clarke Griffin, and no one would take that away from her.

Clarke waited for the prick of the needle, and the dizziness that would follow. Instead, they pulled out a silver wristband. Her nerves tensed immediately, and bile rose in her throat. She froze, with her back to the wall.

"No. No, my eighteenth birthday isn't for a month," she said, her words tripping over themselves. She swallowed to steady her voice. "What is this?"

The silver wristbands meant one thing. On the Ark, _any_ crime was punishable by death, and those who were eighteen years of age or older were shoved out the airlock—unless they were juveniles, in which case, a review would be conducted to decide if the prisoner should be put back in general population. Her birthday was not for another month. Why were they here?

"Quiet. Hold out your right arm."

"No. No, it isn't my time yet!" Her voice shook, and she shrank back against the wall, keeping her eyes on the guards.

"Take off the watch." The second one said as he inched closer.

She glanced down at her watch, pressed her palm over the black leather strap as if her hand was a protective shield, and shook her head right to left. "No… it was my fathers."

Everyone left at some point. With a child's innocence, Clarke had wanted to believe her father was immortal, but, no one was. Her father was swallowed in betrayal, leaving him lifeless, a corpse that fed no one. His voice whispered in the deep recesses of her mind. _I will always be with you, Clarke._ His watch was the only keepsake she had of her father… a way to feel his presence. If they took it, it would be like reliving his death once again. She couldn't handle it… it was too much. Tears choked her throat, burning as they threatened to pour over her eyes. She wavered on her feet, sure she would pass out.

"Take it off." Rough arms yanked her close and attempted to pry the watch off her wrist, but she was far enough that she was able to jerk out of their grasps. The sound of electricity sizzled the air as the other guard activated his baton. _No! Please, no!_ She couldn't go with them—wouldn't go with them. Images of her father staring at her from the porthole taunted her mind, taking her breath away. As if in a slow motion movie, she watched her father slip away into absolute blackness. Were they here to float her, to force her out the airlock to an empty death? Was that why they came? Breathing out desperate choking sounds, she shook her head, but that gesture did not help the horrible images fade. They only reinforced her nightmare.

 _Move, now._ Her fists clenched at her side, digging deep into her palms. The pain was enough to rattle her, pushing her to do something—to fight. Her eyes narrowed as she took a threatening step closer to her enemy. A burst of rage struck her chest, and adrenaline raced through her veins as she considered pounding her fists into their faces.

The guard's strength excelled her own, and normally, she would be put down quickly as if she was but a child. Right now, she was like a cornered animal, and survival fueled her while wrath burned within her heart. At the moment, she was one of the worse threats they had faced.

The first guard lunged at her, grasping for her hand, but Clarke was ready for it. In a blur of motion, she spun out of his reach and caught his arm, twisting it behind him. Her foot crashed against his knee with a crack, and his legs folded. She took a step ahead and swept the other guard's leg out from under him, throwing him to the ground. He grunted in pain. She slammed her foot on his throat before she shot out of the room.

Outside, chaos erupted as the sounds of screams, grunts, and shouts filled the stale air. Her stomach flipped as she stared wide-eyed at the swarm of people being shoved forward, herded like cattle, towards some unknown destination. Her mind pulled down a protective gray fog across her line of sight. It felt like a dream... a lingering nightmare. She wavered, sure she would find herself on the ground.

 _Run!_

"Clarke, stop!"

Clarke's pulse rocketed. She raised her head, and her eyes darted around the corridor. Her mother stood before her, her features tense. Staring blankly, Clarke's thoughts returned to the madness unfolding before her disbelieving eyes. She turned to her mother. "Mom?"

Suddenly, the strong arms of Abby Griffin pulled Clarke to her chest, holding her tight. Her mother's fingers ran through the strands of Clarke's hair, but Abby remained silent. "Mom? What's going on?" She watched as a guard pushed one of the juveniles along the passageway. "They're killing us all, aren't they?"

Abbey leaned back. "Clarke, you aren't being executed… you're being sent to the ground. All one-hundred of you."

"No. It's not safe. No, we get reviewed—"

Abby expression grew intense. "The rules have changed. This gives you a chance to live." Abby cupped Clarke's face. "I love you so much, Clarke."

Tears cascaded down Clarke's cheeks, and a sob escaped her lips. The ground was filled with radiation, she'd never survive. She'd never see her mother again—it was over. Everything was over. She'd die. They'd all die. She tried to cling to the strong presence of her mom, but her uncontrollable emotions overwhelmed her. She wanted to turn and run, get away before the guards take her but slumped against her mother instead. The hiss of a projectile interrupted her thoughts, and a sharp pain lanced through her back, like the scratch of a needle. Quickly a freezing rush of cold ran up her veins, and she stumbled. Her mom caught her, cradling her head to her chest like she once did when Clarke was a child, waking up from bad dreams. Darkness pressed in like a thick wall, covering her vision.

"Mom."

The world went black.

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Clarke noticed the ear piercing noise first. She couldn't tell what it was, her mind was foggy. It sounded like one of the engines on the Arc, and she went to cover her ears but found herself strapped to her chair. She couldn't move. Pain like fire throbbed in her through right above her left shoulder blade, and she cried out.

"Good, you're awake. Welcome back." The voice of the one who had betrayed her a year ago filled her ears.

"Wells, why are you here?"

He started to speak with the lights flickered off and her seat jerked. Cries echoed around her, and her eyes darted from the ceiling to the display that suddenly flashed on.

President Jaha's voice cut through the rumbling of the ship. "Prisoner's of the Ark, hear me now. You've been given a second chance."

Clarke's lips tightened, and her nostrils flared. That man, her father's best friend, was behind her father's death. She glanced at Wells, and the edges of her lips curved lowered. Wells Jaha was the president's son.

 _Fuck my life._

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Thanks to the most awesome beta Raven Sinead who inspires me to always push myself, to not give up. 3 you Raven!

quirky21 for allowing me to pick her brain every night each night. Another one who inspires me so much

I would also like to thank Mad Doctor Artist for allowing me to pick her brain on medical stuff.

We can't forget

Anyways, if anyone would like to comment, I more than welcome it -)


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